


itch (reflex to scratch)

by iris_epicenter



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Comforting Castiel (Supernatural), Desperate Dean Winchester, Fuck Or Die, Hurt/Comfort, It gets resolved tho, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Tied-Up Dean Winchester, im sure you can guess where this is going, its a succubus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-16 10:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29205861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iris_epicenter/pseuds/iris_epicenter
Summary: “Sorry, pal, but the deal is that you don’t get to finish. I feed off of the energy, not the end result. You’ll have to stay like this.”Not a witch. Fuck, fuck, words. “Until?” Dean chokes.“This is awkward,” she answers, frowning, “Let’s just say you don’t have to worry about what happens after, okay?”Oh, god. He’s gonna die from blue balls.or the one where dean is captured by a succubus and cas saves the day
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 11
Kudos: 212





	itch (reflex to scratch)

Dean’s blood sings under his skin. There’s sweat dripping down his temples, down his nose, and into the delicate crevice of his eye. It tracks the dirt smudging his face with it and stings where it makes contact, but he’s helpless to rub it away. He clenches his eyes shut against the burn.

He pulls against his restraints again, panting. His wrists stay immobilized behind his back, tied to something that’s holding him in place, he’s not sure what, and he growls, yanking until it hurts too much to continue. The skin under the thick rope is raw already from his attempts to free himself, and he chokes down a distressed noise at the way it sets the skin on fire.

His legs are bound as well, folded underneath him so that he’s kneeling. The rope holding them must be tied off to something else too because he can’t close them from the V they’re forced into. He gives it a shot anyway, but it just makes his hard dick swing back and forth pathetically.

The cement ground under him is cold on his bare ass even though he’s burning up. He’s fever sweating, can’t seem to stop. When he looks down, his chest is a blotchy red, slick with his perspiration and turning the dirt caked into the crevices of his skin to mud. 

Something is eating him alive from the inside. He gasps at the air and his hips twitch upwards uncontrollably, seeking purchase and friction. Fuck, what had he gotten himself into?

It was supposed to be easy. Wasn’t it always? Dean tries to remember how he got here, but there’s a fog settling over his thoughts that he can’t seem to battle through. He tries, tries, and thinks he remembers there being a witch somewhere in rural Ohio. A shipping warehouse. Maybe he and Sam had found it together. Maybe he had been with Cas. For as hard as he struggles to figure out the details, they keep falling apart into the velvet sensation creeping along his brain.

A bead of sweat drips down the back of his neck and it feels like agony.

He’s rasping air now, each breath rattling in his lungs, pushed out between his teeth.

“Please,” he hears his own voice whimper without his permission.

Dean’s so hard. It almost doesn’t hurt, just pulsing, just unnatural heat and the need to be buried in something hot and wet. His shoulders are tight enough that it feels like the blades are damn near touching under his skin. At least something is getting touched, he thinks, laughing deliriously to himself. It echos off the massive walls of the room.

“Oh, sweetheart.” The voice is high pitched, cooing. 

When Dean forces his eyes open, a slim blonde woman stands in front of him.

“You’re pretty, aren’t you?” she says. Dean tries to glare, but his face is slack. An angry noise rumbles through his chest, though, and he’s proud he could even manage that.

The woman’s nose twitches up into the air. “And you smell so good. All that desperation, just waiting for me to set it free. It certainly wasn’t hard to figure out who my meal would be for the night.” She licks her lips. “Even in that bar, god, you reeked of it.”

Bar? He doesn’t remember a bar.

Dean huffs, tries to string two thoughts together, but the pull in his gut makes him grunt.

“ _Ah-ahh_ ,” is all he can manage. It was supposed to be a scream, but it comes out as a pitiful whine.

“That looks painful,” she says in mock empathy. “I bet you want me to touch you so badly.”

_No_ , he thinks.

“Please,” his mouth begs.

She laughs. “Sorry, pal, but the deal is that you don’t get to finish. I feed off of the energy, not the end result. You’ll have to stay like this.”

Not a witch. Fuck, fuck, words. “Until?” Dean chokes.

“This is awkward,” she answers, frowning, “Let’s just say you don’t have to worry about what happens after, okay?”

Oh, god. He’s gonna die from blue balls.

Dean shuffles on his knees, the concrete under him rough and harsh. Whatever is coming over him is awful, terrible, wringing his insides, but it feels so good. The hair on his arms is standing on end. Precome drips down the side of his dick, and the sensation nearly makes him black out.

“I’ll leave you to it,” the not-witch says, and just like that, she’s gone again.

He can’t get his hips to stop working over nothing but air. It’s like his muscles know, trying to compensate for what he can’t feel, and they’re telling him to fuck. Dean is helpless to the mindless rhythm. Moans leak from between his gaping lips and the salt drips into his mouth. He runs his tongue along his lips just to feel something.

_This is it_ , he thinks. His head is hanging down between his collar bones. _Sorry you’re gonna have to see this, Sammy_.

He wonders how much time passes. The agony and the pleasure make things even fuzzier than they already were. It could’ve been two seconds, it could’ve been two hours. All he knows is that even physically, his body is protesting the hard ground on his knees and the way the ropes hold him.

Something cuts through the sounds of his own whining breaths. It’s distant, at first, and Dean thinks it may be the sound of his own heart failing. But then again, a loud crash, and those were definitely gunshots.

It helps to snap Dean’s soup brain into something almost manageable, and he moans out, “Sam!” hoping that his brother would hear him. When no one comes through the doorway he tries again.

“Sam!” he practically pleads. His voice cracks.

Footsteps run-up, getting closer by the sound of it, until there’s a silhouette in the doorway.

The person walks forward, and Dean squints through his bleary eyes to try to make out their features. Another gunshot sounds from down the hall, farther away.

The person is not Sam.

Cas’s blue eyes are staring at him in horror. The angel is next to him in an instant, but stops a foot away, looking frantic like he doesn’t know what to do.

God, he looks good. Dean bets he feels even better, bets those hands would know how to work him over just right and relieve the pressure from his body. His veins are buzzing like a neon sign that’s honed in to Cas’s frequency.

“Dean.” There’s panic in his voice.

But it’s still dark, still that rich rumble that’s so familiar now, that could get Dean’s wheels turning a little even on a normal day. It cuts through him, and his body lights up in pleasure.

“Ca-aa-aas,” Dean practically sobs. It’s uncontrollable and immense. If Dean hadn’t already been told he was dying, he’d be sure of it now. His hips twitch again and he’s leaking in rivets onto the ground. 

That must hit Castiel like a train because he springs into action again. He’s in front of Dean in a second, his pointer and middle finger pressed to Dean’s forehead with intent to heal. But just that contact is so much, so intense that Dean feels like shedding his skin. A noise of pleasure rips from his throat and roars through the room.

“No,” Cas sounds devastated. “Dean, it’s a succubus. Whatever it’s doing to you, I can’t heal it.”

“Please,” Dean begs in response, and he’s not even sure what he’s begging for. “Please.”

“I can untie you. Maybe that will release its hold.” Cas looks distraught

He gets down to his knees and shuffles around Dean’s body to where his hands are tied behind him. As Cas tries to unknot the rope, his calloused fingertips brush the skin of Dean’s wrists, and Dean howls.

“Oh god,” he cries, “ _oh god, oh god_.”

“I’m so sorry, Dean,” Cas says, equally tearfully. “It’s almost over.”

Dean can’t do anything but hold on and believe him

But the seconds pass and Castiel is still pulling frantically at ropes that haven’t gotten any looser.

“Dean,” Cas says again, softly, gravely. “These ropes are enchanted.”

So it was a witch after all. Or a succubus that was also a witch on top of the demon thing. But then the meaning of Cas’s words sink in, and Dean feels panic wash up new and suffocating inside him.

“ _No_ ,” Dean says before a sob of pleasure punches its way from his chest. He can’t get his hips to stop moving. “C-C-C-” Castiel’s name is dead weight in his mouth. His head tilts back limp.

“Sam is going after her,” Castiel’s voice is almost pleading, like he’s bargaining with God. “Once Sam kills her, the spell should lift and I can untie you.”

Dean needs to tell him. He has to catch his breath, get his thoughts together for a second, or else he’s going to die here while Cas watches.

“Don’t-” Dean grits out, swallows, “No time. Haveto-” That’s all he can get out before he gasps, and he looks pointedly down at his swollen cock. It’s wet and hard and red, and Dean needs to be touched so badly. He doesn’t even allow himself to consider the consequences with Cas, not really, because there are no other options.

For Cas’s credit, he doesn’t argue.

“Alright,” Cas says, trying to calm himself down.

Then, again, “Alright,” more level-headed now, that comforting Cas stability. He walks on his knees until he’s situated in front of Dean again. He looks between Dean’s eyes, his jaw clenched and his eyebrows drawn up in worry that he’s trying to hide. Then he looks down at Dean’s dick and back up like he’s asking for permission.

Dean whimpers. The guilt worms up in him even through the haze. 

“Sorry,” Dean cries, low. Tears are gathering in his eyes from the pain and the pleasure and the emotion. “Cas. S-Sssssssssorry.”

Castiel’s features settle into resolution then, hardened by determination even when his eyes are so gentle.

“Don’t apologize. You have nothing to be sorry about. There is nothing here I haven’t already seen, remember?’

Cas’s fingers touch his shoulder first as if testing the waters, and it’s probably good that he did because the way Dean’s body jolts would’ve ripped his dick off in Cas’s hand. Dean feels the precome dribbling out stronger now, and his bicep becomes an erogenous zone. The pressure of Cas’s hand gives his brain something to latch onto, like a promise of relief, and it’s godly.

“Haaaaaaah.” The sound is reed-thin. “Ahh, _yeah_ \- ju-”

Cas’s hand moves across his collar bones to the center of his chest, dragging down like he’s trying to get Dean used to the sensation before the big event. His eyes track Dean’s face with intensity.

Dean couldn’t stop the noises if he tried. He’s distantly aware that he’s wailing, but he’s not sure anything has ever felt this good in his life. It’s like his whole brain shuts down. His body goes almost slack in the ropes and he’s staring wide-eyed and unseeing at Cas’s face. He can’t get his jaw to tense enough to keep his mouth shut, so it gapes open.

“It’s alright,” Cas says to Dean’s prone form. “I’ve got you, Dean. You’re going to be alright.”

His nimble fingers finally slip down until they curl around Dean’s cock, and Dean screams. The pleasure is busting through him and leaving devastation in its wake. His hips are pumping into Cas’s ever-tightening grip relentlessly, and the sound is slick and hot in his ears. He’s grunting, screeching, crying, he doesn’t know.

“P-P-Please, _oh_.” Yeah, definitely crying. “Y-You… You… C-Cassss.” Dean’s words slur into something almost incomprehensible. 

“Let me,” Cas rumbles, “It’s almost over. You’re being very strong. I know it hurts, I’m sorry.”

And then Cas’s thumb is pressing into the head of his dick and it’s game over. Dean is coming so long and hard that he loses sight, barely even hanging on to sensation. It feels holy. It feels like his body is expelling something alongside his come, and it milks him senseless. It’s still pulsing through him, his dick twitching in Castiel’s hand. Dean yanks at the ropes that won’t give, and the sensation swallows him alive.

He passes out.

When Dean finally wakes up, it feels like his entire body has been beaten by hammers. He tries to canvas the scene and realizes that he’s still on the floor in this godforsaken fucking warehouse. But the ropes are gone, and his head is being pillowed by something. Rough cloth is draped over his skin.

Dean turns to look up and realizes that his head is in Cas’s lap, the trenchcoat covering his naked body like a blanket where he lays. He groans as the painful sensation of his exhausted body comes back to him. The sound makes Cas startle, and he looks down relieved.

“Dean,” Cas breathes, closes his eyes like he’s gathering himself now that Dean is okay. “I’m glad you’re awake. May I heal you?”

“God, please,” he grunts, and then immediately regrets it. The word sits rotting in Dean’s mouth at the memories of what had just transpired.

But Cas doesn’t say anything, just presses his two fingers to Dean’s forehead, and suddenly Dean feels like a real boy again. “That’s the fucking good stuff.” Apparently, his brain to mouth filter has also decided to take a break for the night.

He hurries to fill the silence. “What are we still doing here? Can’t you just fly us out?”

“No,” Cas sighs. “You may be healed physically, but the succubus was draining your life force. That is not something that I can make right instantly. Your body is too weak for me to fly you anywhere, so we’re waiting for Sam to return with the Impala.”

Dean glares up at him like a question. Cas rolls his eyes.

“The succubus escaped after we found the warehouse. Sam went after it while I went to find you. He had to chase it down some ways off the property before he killed it, which is why the ropes could not be untied even after I got to you.”

At the mention of the ropes, Dean feels a little sick. 

Cas exhales like he can sense it. 

“Dean…”

“Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen, okay? Capiche?”

“No. Not capiche.” Cas scowls, but it quickly softens. “What happened was not your fault. I don’t blame you, I don’t hold it against you. You didn’t force me to do anything.”

Dean barks out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, right. If I didn’t- If you hadn’t, I literally would have died. That doesn’t sound like not forcing it to me.”

“If that’s how you view it, let me rephrase, then. This didn’t make me uncomfortable, nor does it make me view you differently. I’ve witnessed Earth for centuries. I know what sex is. And I am the one who rebuilt your body, I’ve seen you naked before. Nudity does not bother me. The only thing I am worried about is the trauma your psyche and body have gone through. _Capiche_?”

Cas’s tone is terse, but when Dean looks up at him, his face is neutral. The only thing giving away his nonchalance is the concern in his eyes. It makes the knot of guilt and humiliation in Dean’s chest loosen slightly.

Dean tries to imagine laying like this with anyone else, naked and exhausted and vulnerable, but he can’t. He wonders what would have happened if Cas’s steady voice and demeanor hadn’t been there for him to brace himself against as he slowly lost all of his inhibitions. Lost control of his brain and his mouth and his body. The thought terrifies him. 

“Cas, I’m glad you found me.” It’s barely a whisper, and Dean knows if he weren’t so tired he wouldn’t have said it at all.

The expression on Cas’s face changes into something like awe at Dean’s admission. It’s so open that it’s disarming. 

“As am I, Dean.” Cas’s hand raises, stops in midair, before finally settling on the crown of Dean’s head. His fingers don’t move, but his hand rests like an anchor holding Dean’s thoughts together. 

Dean feels like crying. His body is still raw even after he’s been healed, the pent up energy that consumed him just minutes ago feels like it’s leaking out of his ears. All he can do is feel grateful for Castiel’s big comforting hand. A tear rolls down the side of his cheek. 

“Cas, I’m glad you found me,” Dean repeats wetly. “And you didn’t- you know you didn’t do anything I didn’t want either, right?”

Dean didn’t actually think that it needed to be said, but Cas is looking at him all surprised and scared like Dean saw right through him. The hand on top of his head twitches. 

“You didn’t, Cas. Look, this ain’t- this wasn’t on my bucket list, man. But what happened- it- the only reason… anything feels okay right now is because it was you. There couldn’t- I’m glad it was you.”

He stares up at Cas’s face and wills him to get it. 

There’s empathy etched across Cas’s features, his eyebrows drawn, his eyes tender. Cas’s hand moves from the top of his skull to his forehead, and those calloused fingers push his sweaty bangs back. Cas leans down so slowly, until his chapped lips are pressed to the skin between Dean’s eyebrows.

“It was a privilege to be trusted by you,” Cas murmurs into the skin, and his lips and stubble tickle where they move. Then he is pulling away, but his hand stays laced in Dean’s hair. 

They sit that way in silence until Sam’s form is hulking in the doorway.

He looks tired and worried when he approaches, and outright blanches when he sees the state Dean is in.

“Dude- what- are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean mumbles from Cas’s lap, eyelids drooping. “Don’t get your panties in a twist. Cas saved the day.”

At that, Sam looks up to Cas. “What happened?”

Cas opens his mouth helplessly like he doesn’t know how to explain before Dean rescues him.

“Doesn’t matter. Let’s just say you should be grateful it was him who found me and not you.”

Sam shudders, “Oh, God. That bad?”

“Whatever you’re imagining, make it worse.”

“That’s- uh,” Sam seems at a loss for words, “Well, it looks like Cas took care of it, so, good?” He looks rather pointedly at Dean’s head still cradled in Cas’s lap.

“Good,” Dean replies, and then yawns. Being a sex punching bag really does a number on a person. “Let’s go home. I need to sleep for the next three weeks.”

He tries to get up, but his body hangs loose like a ragdoll. He huffs in annoyance.

“Allow me,” Cas says, before suddenly the fabric of his trenchcoat is no longer blanketing Dean’s body, but wrapped around him. Cas slides his way out from underneath Dean’s head and stands over him, stooping down to place an arm under his knees and neck. Then, Dean is being lifted into the air as if he weighs nothing.

“Whoa,” Dean complains, vertigo rising at the sudden movement of his body. His stomach churns for a moment, but he doesn’t puke, so he counts that as a win. “Easy, tiger.”

“My apologies,” and Cas actually sounds sorry.

Dean looks up at the underside of his chin, wrapped in the angel’s jacket that still smells like ozone, carried like a child.

“My knight in shining armor,” Dean’s tired brain supplies almost wistfully.

Cas smiles down at him, and everything is okay.

**Author's Note:**

> i blacked out and wrote this in one sitting. uh, not even sure what to say about this one, guys.


End file.
